


home

by buccelatte



Category: Morally Gray Adventurers' Morally Gray Adventure (MGAMGA), The Curse of Strahd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-14
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-11-17 20:07:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18105548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buccelatte/pseuds/buccelatte
Summary: It’s the easiest way to go- to die for a cause that’s worth dying for, to die saving the lives of innocents that would otherwise be slaughtered by Strahd for stepping the tiniest bit out of line. Nozhone doesn’t mind. Although he’s only 25, his life has come to an end already.





	home

“So why are _you_ here, Nozhone?” Ramad asks, unceremoniously stuffing a burnt scone into his mouth, looking curiously over at the elven bard. Nozhone looks up at him. The simple question, prompted by the adventurers sharing their stories around a campfire, makes him feel lost. A silence blankets the party as Nozhone hesitates, and they all turn to look at him, expectant. Ramad wipes a crumb off of his face with the back of his hand and licks it off, staring at him, question in his eyes. “Uh,” Nozhone starts, unsure. “I… I don’t think I feel comfortable sharing that.” Ramad groans and rolls his eyes, and Aseir pouts. “You and all your secrets…” Ramad responds, and turns to Sapphire to ask her the same, dropping the topic.  
Nozhone shifts in his position, wracking his brain. Why is he here? The land of Barovia -- a world separate from the rest, a world for people who have no idea what their futures will hold. Maybe he is here to find a future for himself, for he cannot remember his past, no matter how much he may want to. He tries to remember, but there is a block in his mind, a wall that prevents things from escaping. He dubs this wall Jack, because it talks to him sometimes, turning over in his sleep, eating bitter scones that taste like rocks while surrounded by people he can barely call acquaintances.  
Sapphire is the closest to him of the group; she’s gentle and sweet, and he cannot comprehend why someone like her, with a future so bright, would willingly choose to come to a place so foul and coated in malignance as Barovia. He doesn’t understand why she chooses to stay with them, with him. She calls it duty. She calls it sacrifice. He calls it foolish. But he still needs her; her presence calms him. He knows he’s safe with her healing hand, her healing words. She’s there for him, at his side, inhaling deep breaths of the blackened air as Dean smokes a cigarette beside them.  
A wave of sleek black crows crowd above them. It feels like an omen, a sign- they flock down and land on tall posts that reach into the dark and foggy sky. Dean tosses his cigarette to the ground and mashes it out with his foot, scratching his scraggly excuse of a beard as he does so.  
“So, what next, adventurers? Shall we head back home?” Dean says abruptly, interrupting Aseir and Ramad’s rambunctious laughter. (He’s joking), Nozhone realizes a beat late. (None of us have homes.) Nozhone looks up from his position on the ground at Dean, who seems so large and self-assured. It is then that Nozhone realizes that, despite spending weeks with these people, he doesn’t know anything about his colleagues. He pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around his legs, clamping his hands together. It’s suddenly very cold. The wind feels like ice against his skin.

_Your home is gone._

It’s a small voice, a tiny one, but it is wormed in the back of his mind, echoing through it with a clarity that makes him squeeze his legs tighter to his body.

_“Dante! Nozhone! Can you please help me set the table?” Nozhone jumps up from playing a board game with Dante and runs to help Jess at the dining room table. It’s autumn, and the fiery orange leaves are falling outside, ever so gentle. Dante smiles lovingly at Nozhone, the way a father would. The sun slants through the windows, sharp orange light hitting the wooden floorboards. A lonesome raven caws outside atop a lamppost. It feels as if the house is on fire._

The moment Nozhone remembers, he forgets. The names and faces of the people he once knew and loved disappear once again from memory, and he is left fumbling for purchase in his mind, small, worthless. He is back in Barovia, knowing nothing, remembering nothing. And yet he can’t help but feel as if he is missing something, as if a piece of him is gone. He is empty, tearing apart at the seams. What is he looking for? What is he missing? He wishes, pointlessly, to remember what the word ‘home’ means to him.  
Nozhone glances over the rest of the party, tuning out their words. Vesper sits intertwined with Monkey, long legs hidden under the layers of her skirt, and Sapphire sits next to the duo, pristine in her leather armor. Aseir and Ramad have begun to squabble. (Why are these people here?) He can’t help thinking to himself. He understands why he is, for Nozhone is someone completely and utterly lost, without a purpose but to find what’s missing from his life. Barovia is an empty place. ruled by a cruel and unforgiving leader named Strahd. The group of adventurers have come to Barovia to defeat him and rid the isolated world of its dreadful ruler. However, though unspoken between the party, they all know the true reason for coming. (Nobody has ever defeated him before. Everyone who comes to Barovia comes here to die. One last hurrah in a life full of misery.)  
It’s the easiest way to go- to die for a cause that’s worth dying for, to die saving the lives of innocents that would otherwise be slaughtered by Strahd for stepping the tiniest bit out of line. Nozhone doesn’t mind. Although he’s only 25, his life has come to an end already. He looks into the fire, dancing in the pit that they had dug out for it. Burying his own grave. The stars blink at him far, far above, beyond the clouds that bar them in Barovia. The moon peeks out of a gap in the clouds and then disappears once more, coating the earth in a blue darkness once again.

(Don’t die until you’re dead.)

Their short rest is over. The adventurers, replenished enough by their three hours around the campfire, prepare to move once more. Their foot falls are quiet, and the flattened earth seems to dip underneath their feet as they re-strap the horses up to their wine-filled caravans, rewards from their previous adventure helping a winery infested by malicious druids. Nozhone hops into the caravan alongside Sapphire, as the two of them need to rest further in order to be able to cast spells efficiently. A few more hours of trundling along in the caravan passes, the other adventurers walking beside the rolling caravan, talking quietly amongst themselves. Ramad and Aseir laugh together over some stupid inside joke. Nozhone feels himself drifting back to sleep.

A full day of travelling with little interruption passes, and when the spent group of adventurers arrive at the next town over, it’s dark. Nozhone had spent the last hour and a half polishing his viola and guitar, and he swings his legs out of the caravan, extending a helping hand to Sapphire, who takes it graciously. She smiles warmly at him as she steps down out of the caravan. Even looking at her now, Nozhone can see that she’s an extremely powerful sorceress, as soft golden energy seems to flow from her every pore. Nozhone takes a deep breath and enters the tavern that they have stopped in front of before anyone else, his intent to get free food and lodging for the night through his story and songs. It doesn’t take long at all to convince the innkeeper, who tells him that depending on how well he performs, he’ll give him discounts on their room and board.  
Nozhone takes his place up at the front of the bar against the wall, taking out his guitar and strumming it experimentally, gathering attention, before he begins. The crowd murmurs, their talk dipping and flowing in and out of his pointed ears. He sighs deeply. How many times has he done this now? He turns one of the guitar’s tuning pegs and hears the note pitch higher, ever so slightly. He begins to sing.

(Pour your words out, come on. I’m not coming back.)

_“Goodnight, sweetheart.” Dante says softly, stroking Nozhone’s face with his tanned hand, pushing a strand of hair from his face and tucking it neatly behind his ear. Nozhone lies underneath the covers, sleep oppressing him with its heavy hand. He hears Dante’s voice above him, singing to him quietly, lulling him to sleep. “Goodnight, Dante…” He mumbles softly, and he sees Dante smile before pulling back and standing up, walking towards the door to his bedroom and flipping the light switch off. As true darkness blankets the room, so does a feeling of foreboding, a feeling that something is not quite right. Despite the house’s warmth, Nozhone shivers underneath the covers, pulling his comforter up to his chin. He hears Dante’s footsteps receding into his room, and the soft click of the door shutting. Anxiety begins to gnaw at him. Something is wrong. He can’t quite place it, but something is off. He has never been this happy, he realizes. He’s not allowed to be this happy._

(Draw the curtains, come on, that old son is back..)

_The doomed battle begins._

(My hometown has cursed me lately.)

_And Nozhone is gone. When he wakes up, he is no longer at home. The smell of fire lingers and stings his nostrils._

(I’m not coming back.)

Someone used to sing for him. Nozhone continues to sing to the crowd before him, who are all singing and laughing along, merry clinking of ale and mead to accompany his music.

(Because the last thing that I noticed, as that old dream came around)

_He stands in front of a house that’s been burned to the ground, ashes blackened from the mere heat of the fire. He can not understand the emotions that grip him; he can not understand why he is so distraught at seeing the remains of a burned down house._

(Was the city burning golden; As the sun came sliding down  
And I said they’re still in my mind)

Nozhone feels small, insignificant. The innkeeper looks genuinely delighted at his song, and people are filtering in to the inn as he continues to sing, drawn by the sound of his lovely voice and fast paced guitar strumming. His voice doesn’t feel like it belongs to him. He feels completely alone, and yet, at the same time, he feels surrounded, as if the people watching him mean him harm.

(And screamed, Goodbye, farewell, To my hometown.)

He’s empty once again, unsure where life is taking him, unsure where he wants to go, unsure where to restart. The crowd cheers him on as he hits a high note, voice wavering with emotion.

_He falls to his knees in front of the debris._

He finishes his song, breathless. The crowd roars and bursts into applause, applause that stings too loud, feels too raw. It’s overstimulating, and he sits, dazed. As the cheering dies down, the crowd resumes their original conversations, paying him no mind once more. Again, he is nobody, memories slipping from his mind all too soon, disappearing the moment they resurface. The innkeeper is clasping his hand on his shoulder. He realizes it a beat late. “Wonderful job!” The innkeeper says jovially, a little too excitedly, while patting him on his back. “They love you!” His cheerfulness seems off, and Nozhone stares at him like a fish, zoned out. The innkeeper seems unnerved. “Uh,” he continues cautiously, “Feel free to stay the night, food and lodging is on us if you perform again tomorrow.” Nozhone stares again into the innkeepers face, out of it, before coming to. “H-Huh? Oh, yes, thank you. Thank you sir, I, ah, I appreciate it.” He stammers, though his voice feels far off, his eyes unfocused on his surroundings. The innkeeper doesn’t seem to notice, or at least pretends not to, and he leaves the stage. Nozhone prepares, eyes blank, for his next song, empty, emotionless. Sapphire watches from the crowd.

Someone used to sing for him.

The night grows old and staggering, and the inhabitants of the bar begin to head up to their rooms, red faced, tired, and cheerful. Nozhone is spent, sitting on his stool on the stage, fingers hurting from strumming. He sits there for a while, aching. Sapphire steals glances at him from where she is sitting between Monkey and Dean, but the rest of the party does not seem to notice. Nozhone stands up, eyes fixed on a indiscernible point in space. The world is foggy, hazy, a distant memory. He stands. The earth seems to teeter underneath him, unbalanced. He sways involuntarily as he walks up the stairs. His acquaintances don’t notice him, but Sapphire’s eyes follow him as he moves up the steps to his room, closing the door softly behind him. He does not have the energy to remove his clothes, instead opting to sink directly into the bed. The blankets feel unnaturally rough against his skin. He closes his eyes, exhausted, spent. The realization stings his chest.

Someone used to wait for him.

_“Have fun, kiddo.” Dante says, a smile in his eyes. He pulls Nozhone into an embrace. Jess watches from the doorway. “Dante,” she interjects, smiling, a note of protest in her voice.“He’s coming right back home.” Dante looks up at her from his position next to Nozhone. “Yeah,” he continues, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t be sentimental with my goodbyes.” He pats Nozhone’s head with an affectionate hand, then pulls back, placing his hands on Nozhone’s shoulders. “Promise me you’ll come home.” He says, suddenly serious. “Dante, I’m just going to Thomas’s house for a few days. It’s only a few towns over.” Nozhone replies, laughing a little. “Just promise.” Dante insists. Jess crosses her arms at the doorway, nearly rolling her eyes. “Okay, I promise.” Nozhone finally responds, and, satisfied, Dante stands up, returning to the doorway with Jess. “Bye, kiddo.” He smiles. “Back soon!” Nozhone responds._

Nozhone opens his eyes. Jack seems to protest in his ear, but he dresses himself and walks down the stairs of the inn, taking only his viola. Back soon. He writes in a messy scrawl on a torn piece of paper. He is about to leave when Sapphire’s soft voice stops him.  
“Nozhone,” she says, her voice tender. “Are you going?”  
Nozhone stops at the doorway, unable to look back at her. “There’s some things I need to tend to.” He responds carefully. He doesn’t even know where he’s going, he only knows that he is. Sapphire takes a step closer, and Nozhone takes a subconscious step away. She stops.  
“Promise me you’ll come home.” Her words stab into him, and he feels his facade crumble. He turns around, and he sees Sapphire, quiet confusion on her face, concern in her eyes. He sees someone in her that he can’t remember anymore. “Home?” He says, his voice barely a whisper. The clock on the mantelpiece ticks to two am. “Nozhone,” Sapphire repeats, softly, sadly. He wipes his face with the back of his hand, realizing a beat late that he is crying. She approaches him, empathy soft in her eyes, and embraces him, and she’s warm, full of life, full of love -- and Nozhone is home again.


End file.
